Thinner.

There’s a Stephen King book (and movie) called “Thinner” – and I’m going to ruin them both for you right now. Basically, a fat, shitty – and by shitty I mean “he was a bad person” – lawyer runs over a gypsy woman and her family curses him by saying “Thinner.” And then he begins to lose weight in a fast and scary manner to the point where he is literally skin and bones and desperate to find a way to reverse things.

And in a way, I feel like that’s what’s happening to me. Only it’s my fault, and not some gypsy’s – even though I’d really like to blame it on the Architect (who has been treating me like his BFF, lately – even going so far to say that he’d want me as his “best man” if he ever gets married).

When things spiral beyond my control, I seek to get that control back. When I was in high school and college, I was riding horses all the time, so I could control some big 1200 pound animal with my hands, legs and voice, and that took care of things. It allowed me to exert control over something much bigger than myself and kept me sane.

And now? I don’t have the money to go riding anymore – so I don’t have my outlet and feel like everything in life (job, money, boys, family, friends) is so far out of reach that there is nothing I can do to influence it.

So I control me. More specifically, I control what I eat, or rather, what I don’t eat. I eat enough during the day to keep me energized. I eat enough that I’m not keeling over from hunger pangs. But I rarely eat actual lunch anymore, and my breakfast is usually coffee.

For a while I thought it wasn’t on purpose. That stress had effectively killed my appetite, but it isn’t true. It’s not the stress, it’s me. And I’ve been doing it on purpose. If I’m distracted, and out with friends – I’ll eat like a horse (a few of you bloggers can attest to this). But by myself? Fuck that.

Is this healthy? No.
Is it fixable? Yes.
Is it scary? Absolutely yes. Means my mind is a lot more fucked than previously imagined.
Am I at an extreme point? No. I’ve dropped some pounds but am not at an unhealthy weight.
Does writing it down here make it that much more real? Yes.
Does the realness force me to examine and do something about it? Yes.

And by the way…
I wrote this for me. Not to freak anyone out. This is not a cry for help, this is a statement of accountability to myself and to my friends. It means that I’m not keeping my little food secret anymore, and it means that I have to do something about it.

And hello, I HAVE to do something about it. I love food. I’ve just been avoiding it, and it’s something I need to fix.

Boo-Urns

Fuck.

Know how when you get coffee nowadays, they come with the little “solo traveler” lid that kind of reminds you of a sippy cup?

Know how when you take a drink and then pull the coffee cup away from your mouth too quickly, it’ll sometimes splash up on you a little?

Well thanks to to the sippy cup lid and the splash effect, I now look like I’m lactating.

THANKS STARBUX.

To Hell On A Train

On Sunday, one of my coworkers at The Office got married in a Big Fat Greek Wedding.

It was just as long and complicated as every other Greek wedding I’ve ever been to – which wasn’t really a shock. And if any of my coworkers asked me about one thing or another in terms of what was going on – I filled them in, and told them when to stand up and sit down and so on.

Anyway, after the ceremony – my coworkers and I are in the receiving line, shaking hands and hugging people and offering our congrats and so on. And then we get to the Bride.

1. She looks BEAUTIFUL.
2. I am really really surprised that she is not hanging out in her receiving line talking about poop and sex and boners and so on, as it’s pretty much her daily M.O.
3. She and I switch off in the in-office ranking of “Most Vulgar Greek Girl Who Works At The Office” – we have potty mouths and dirty minds and were instantly friends because of it.

Anyway. I hug the Bride and the following exchange takes place:

Me: Bride you look BEAUTIFUL!
Bride: Thanks! You look HOT! You should hook up with the groomsmen!
Me: All of them?
Bride: Definitely.
Me: What, are they just gonna run a train on me at the reception?
Bride:Yeah! I’ll videotape!

And this whole conversation happened while still in the church. She and I are going to hell. On a train.

Walking The Line

I try my damndest to be anonymous about this blog.Or as anonymous as people will let me be, anyway.

I do this to protect myself and my jobs and my personal relationships with the people I write about because – hell, they don’t necessarily know that I’m writing about them.

Some of you are completely out there, in terms of your face and your name and your families and your everything and still manage to write about dating and your personal lives and what goes on in your heads and I canNOT wrap my head around that.

How do you do it, kids?

And that, I guess, is why I didn’t really go out and participate at the 20SB Meetup – much as I wanted to. I don’t want there to be a face with my name. I don’t want to end up in 237634875 tagged pictures on fifteen different sites.

And I’m having a helluva time walking the line between “anon blogger” and “wtf, I want to go out and drink with everyone!”

What about the rest of you? Is there such a thing as a “partially anonymous blogger”?

Coveting

I haven’t made a good “Stuff I Want That I Can’t Afford Right Now But Won’t Be Jealous If You Go Out And Buy It And Look Cute In It” list in a long time. So uh, here goes…

And what are youuuuuuuu coveting?

AND. If you’re in down for the 20SB Chicago meetup and you plan on being at the bar tonight, I’ll be there toooooooo.

I’m sorry, but how effing adorable is this? Wear it with pearls and an apron, pretend to be June Cleaver.